A couple of hours had passed and Joe was feeling the mixture of happiness and harassed that often came with inquisitive and lively children of whatever species. They’d seemed more interested in questioning him than in the Everfree, so the danger of the trip had begun to feel needless. Of course had it not been so dangerous then they’d not have had so much to question him about. After being mauled there was no way that Joe would have ventured into the Everfree without being equipped for it. But it seemed it would have been better to tell the Cutie Mark Crusaders ‘no’ and by avoiding the Everfree also avoid the need for the equipment and thus avoid the questions seeing it had provoked from them.
The first to pipe up had been Sweetie Belle when she recognised the quilted vest her sister had made for Joe. She’d commented that Rarity had been puzzled why Joe wanted that when the weather had not yet turned cold and Joe had explained it was for protection and to spread the weight of what was worn over it rather than for warmth. Then he realised that honesty might have been a mistake as, after they’d sympathised on seeing the scars continued all the way up his arm, the Cutie Mark Crusaders began asking him to explain everything else. He’d managed to gain a short respite by asking them to let him dress in peace but that was a respite only from questions rather than from being watched with interest as he dressed and left a note and sketch map under a stone on his porch. And they had not travelled far before the questions resumed, which gave Joe a problem.
The first thing he’d been given when he awoke naked in a bed in this world was a sincere apology for how the magic had gone wrong. To which Joe’s response had been to keep saying ‘talking horsie’ over and over again. Once he had moved past that stage, and they had checked him for the brain damage his lack of eloquence had suggested, they had given him a History of Equestria. His concern over whether he could read it had drawn reassurances that some ponies did have problems with their letters, and a kindly meant suggestion that he try and see if he could manage before they brought one meant for a colt or filly. Which had not been what Joe meant, he’d wondered if some sort of translating spell had been cast and if that would work on writing as well as speech.
Fortunately if there was such a spell it had worked with both and Joe had been able to read just as fast as he would have done back home. Though if he’d read slower then the contrast might have not been such a shock. There were conflicts in Equestria’s history but not many and they were dismissed quickly rather than being detailed as major events. This country had enjoyed a thousand years of peace and prosperity under the rule of a Sun Goddess while Joe’s country had been part of dozens of wars over the same period.
So Joe had been careful in what he said as he was alone and didn’t want to appear a barbarian. Gradually he’d realised this care had built on the impression his initial reaction and concern about reading had given and that the Ponies that came to talk to him were talking a little slower and with smaller words than they might have done. He’d also realised that they didn’t think of him as anything special and had needed to decide if he was insulted or relieved. Joe didn’t want to be studied as a curiosity and put through tests but he’d not thought he was that boring a specimen.
It seemed as far as the Ponies were concerned he was just another shape of person and could be dealt with as such and as an immigrant. The only difference was that he was an unwilling immigrant and so he’d been summoned to an audience with Princess Celestia for her to apologise and welcome him and gift him enough bits in compensation for him to get settled. After that he’d just attended the same classes as anyone else and had accepted, looking around at the variety sharing the rooms with him, that the Ponies were right and continuing to be boring would avoid a lot of trouble. He wasn’t sure why his immigration-adviser had suggested Ponyville but he’d not known enough to disagree and so far it had been pleasant and quiet enough.
Now though the Cutie Mark Crusaders had decided he was interesting. They’d asked about the smith in Ponyville and how he knew how to make human shaped armour, and Joe had needed to admit they’d worked it out together, which meant Joe then had to admit he had spent a few years helping with re-enactments at a castle. Then to them questioning why he was talking about re-enactments and how old the castle was and why he’d worked out old armour and how old that sort of armour was. This was the sort of history that Joe had enjoyed telling stories of, but also the sort he’d avoided recounting here.
Fortunately the dangers of the Everfree were enough that Joe had been able to ‘shush’ the Fillies, mostly when he genuinely thought he might have heard something, and break up the flow of their questions and give himself more thinking time. With that advantage he’d been able to divert his answers away from the historical context of bloody battles and conquests. Instead he’d self-depreciatingly said he was not strong enough to be carrying anything too heavy and then started to explain the differences between what he was wearing and the inspirations. The bands of the segmented plate were made from thinner metal as they were meant to prevent claws snagging in the chainmail beneath rather than being full protection in themselves. The chainmail coat, that Sweetie Belle had found shiny, was only a single layer of not very dense links rather than being doubled up anywhere and came only to mid-thigh rather than knee and mid-bicep rather than full-length sleeves.
To Joe’s relief that last provided a further, accidental, diversion as the Fillies first asked what a bicep was and then why he’d said mid-bicep rather than mid-tricep as they were both on the same part of his arm. He’d had to admit he wasn’t sure and had then regretted saying a bicep was easier to flex to impress a lady, so maybe that was why it was more mentionable. Questions about what ‘mare-humans’ looked like and if he missed them had been embarrassing. Then when they asked about loose and shorter sleeves he’d had needed to explain why a Human might prefer to have air around his skin. The idea humans oozed water to keep cool was met with a protest that this was gross.
Joe had not taken offence, he’d just been glad that they’d accepted the explanation and he’d not needed to explain the canvas armguards protecting his forearms. Or the metal strapped as an extra guard along the outside of his right arm. But there had been several minutes where the Cutie Mark Crusaders wanted to charge Joe to test what he’d said about that moving the round table-top thing strapped to his other arm around to deflect attacks. Three energetic Fillies running at him fast from different directions would have been challenge enough even without the extra problem that he didn’t want them to hit his shield too hard and hurt themselves. It would have been simpler had he a larger shield that he could use more passively in this situation but he’d chosen to have one small enough to leave his hand free rather than requiring him to hold a strap in it or the bulk of it extending far enough to be badly in the way.
As they reached the edge of some trees, and the top of a shallow slope, Joe brought his arm down to one side, and lowered the stabbing spear in his hand down as a barrier, the sun glinting off the edges of the long broad spearhead. “Wait,” he said.
“What’s the problem?” Scootaloo asked, her wings buzzing as she ‘hopped’ up to look over the spear.
“I don’t think we could get up that cliff,” replied Joe, looking at where their path was taking them. “So there’d be a stretch where we’d be trapped between the water and that.” He paused before admitting and asking. “The country I came from didn’t have many dangerous animals, but that wasn’t the case in others and isn’t the case here. Do you girls know of anything that could be lurking in that water?”
“Let’s find out!” Apple Bloom cried, darting forward beneath the spear.
“Cutie Mark Crusader Beach Checkers!” agreed Scootaloo, hopping again and going over the top.
“Wait!” Joe snapped, being ignored as two sets of hooves pounded away. He looked down at the small Unicorn looking up at him.
“We did promise,” said Sweetie Belle.
“I know,” Joe nodded, giving her a reassuring smile, “and I am glad you are being good, and your friends were good at least this long.” He returned his gaze to the path ahead. “Best get after them and hope I was being paranoid.”
Joe started to jog down to where Apple Bloom and Scootaloo were arguing and paying more attention to each other than anything else. Small clumps of mud were being thrown up as they raced in circles and enjoyed the extra room compared with the forest. A smile came unbidden to Joe’s face, whatever the species it was nice to see children playing and having fun. But then that smile vanished as he saw a rather large ripple appear on the surface of the water and begin to approach the pair.
“Run!” Joe bellowed.
The pair of Fillies looked at him, puzzled as they were running. Joe gestured with his spear as he started to sprint to join them, cursing and slowing as he remembered that over short distances a human athlete could outsprint a racehorse before it finished building speed. However his exercise and the magic aiding it had worked it seemed it had worked well enough that he could outsprint a small filly, at least if she was a Unicorn and her magic was in her horn rather than her legs.
“Run!”
“You didn’t stop when he said,” added Sweetie Belle, “so at least run when he says!”
That seemed to persuade Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, though by the time they got into their stride Joe and Sweetie Belle had almost caught up. So naturally rather than running as fast as they could they slowed to reunite the Cutie Mark Crusaders once more.
“What’s going on?” asked Apple Bloom.
“Ripple,” Joe growled.
“What’s so scary about a ripple?” Scootaloo protested. Then with a spray of water and mud a huge Crocodile lunged out of the water, its body and feet obliterating the hoofprints she and Apple Bloom had left in their playing. “…never mind.”
“Crap,” Joe commented with more feeling than eloquence as he glanced back.
“Cutie Mark Crusader Croc Chow!” squeaked Sweetie Belle.
The Crocodile twisted back and forth to look around and then its eyes fixed on the fleeing quartet and it lunged again into the flailing, paddling, wriggling, and surprisingly fast run its ilk could do. Joe glanced back again at the noise and realised that just as he could have outrun Sweetie Belle over a short distance so could this outrun all of them, and they’d be caught before they got up the slope and into the trees at the far end of this river-shore. But there was one tree by itself, though it looked dead from its lack of leaves, and they might reach that and it might still be sturdy enough.
“It’s too fast, head for that tree,” Joe told them.
“We ain’t monkeys!” complained Apple Bloom, a slight emphasis on the ‘we’.
“Neither am I.”
Scootaloo muttered something, that Joe ignored, about him being a lot closer to being one than they were, but the Cutie Mark Crusaders skidded to a stop at the base of the tree. Before any of them could ask ‘now what?’ Joe dropped his spear and grabbed Apple Bloom, one hand either side of her just behind her forelegs. He took a quick glance up at where the branches were as she started to turn her head towards him…
“Hup!” Joe grunted as he straightened and put his back and thighs and arms into sending the filly almost straight up.
“Whoa!” cried Apple Bloom, flailing her legs around and managing to snag the branch Joe had aimed her near.
Joe turned to Scootaloo. “Wait,” she said, buzzing her wings, “no need to throw me quite so hard.”
Whether Joe listened or not was unclear to Sweetie Belle as she watched him grab and throw her friend. Scootaloo’s wings were still going so that she didn’t go up even faster suggested Joe had not put as much strength into it. Or that he had and Scootaloo’s wings didn’t make much difference. Sweetie Belle glanced at the rapidly approaching Crocodile and then back at Joe.
“Your turn,” Joe said, also giving the Crocodile a look.
“Okay,” Sweetie Belle replied nervously as Joe got hold of her.
Joe took a deep breath and then released it as he sent Sweetie Belle to join her friends. Then he jumped and scrambled up the section of bare trunk to where he could grab a branch and heave himself up, his helmet clanking against his rear as it swung on the chinstrap he’d buckled through his belt. Joe climbed a little higher before looking down and grumbled to himself as he saw he might have had enough time to pick up his spear. It would have made climbing awkward but he’d learned the perils of being armed with just the knife at his left hip. It had been good enough as a tool but having three times the length and twice the width of metal attached to a sturdy wooden shaft for extra reach and leverage was better as a weapon.
The tree shook as the Crocodile arrived and butted it so Joe looked around to check if the Fillies were secure. To his lack of surprise, having seen pictures of goats climbing trees and knowing these Ponies were just as surefooted, the Cutie Mark Crusaders were above him. Thankfully they still seemed more interested than frightened, for now. The tree shook again as the Crocodile butted it again, and then reared up to try to reach them. Fortunately its size was working against it. If it had been smaller it might have agile enough to rear up a little higher and as its front legs scrabbled at the trunk the weight of it and the power of its muscles was shredding the bark away rather than it getting any purchase. The end of its snout was still too close for comfort though and the first branch Joe had grabbed cracked and fell to the ground as the Crocodile swung its head and the side of its snout struck this.
After a minute or so of this enthusiastic activity the Crocodile settled back down, but to Joe’s dismay it seemed happy enough to wait at the bottom of the tree for the morsels it could see above it to come within reach. There was silence for a few minutes as the Crocodile waited and Joe looked down at it, and the Cutie Mark Crusaders looked down at them both.
“Ah didn’t realise you were that strong,” said Apple Bloom suddenly.
“Neither did I,” Joe admitted, “Could be Twilight and Zecora did better work than I thought. But I was hoping I’d get you high enough, and if I didn’t that you’d land okay and be able to run with your friends.”
“I thought you said it was too fast?” protested Scootaloo.
“It was, is,” Joe sighed, “so I was being cowardly enough to risk Apple Bloom being hurt so I could avoid having to play the hero and trying to fight it.”
“Ahm tough,” snorted Apple Bloom, trying to be reassuring, “so not much chance I’d have hurt from a little throw and fall like that.”
“Good,” Joe replied, sounding distracted as he tried to get his helmet without dropping it or falling out of the tree. It was simple enough with your feet on the ground but this perch was a little precarious to twist around on.
“Are you going to play the hero now?” Sweetie Belle asked, sounding worried.
“Not so much,” Joe reassured her, managing to slide the chinstrap along his belt from almost behind him to against the belt loop at his right hip where he could use both hands on its buckle. Though this was awkward while sitting across a branch as that wood and the wood of the shield strapped onto his arm wanted to be in the same place.
“Aw!” said Scootaloo, sounding disappointed.
“Then why the helmet?” Apple Bloom asked as Joe realised his mistake. It would have been better to have both hands free to pull the soft cloth skullcap from tucked inside his belt and onto his head rather than having to do that one handed while the other held his helmet rather than the loop of his shield.
“I’m not sure,” said Joe, managing to get the skullcap on along with the helmet and the chinstrap refastened to hold it on his head and press the fairly narrow cheekguards against his face. “If that Crocodile manages to get hold of me than none of this armour will matter.”
“Not what ah was asking,” Apple Bloom said, her voice conveying the frown Joe could not see.
Joe nodded and reached back over his shoulder, his right hand closing on the end of a length of wood. The Cutie Mark Crusaders had not been sure why Joe had wanted to bring a bag full of sticks with him or why that larger stick was attached to that bag by a broad canvas strap. But compared with their other questions and the other things Joe was carrying or wearing that had seemed uninteresting. Joe finished pulling the length of wood free and then transferred it to his left hand so he could reach across himself into his belt pouch with his right. From that pouch he tugged a cord that he looped around one end of it.
“What’s that?” Scootaloo asked, nearly giving Joe a heart attack as she hop-buzz-fluttered down to a branch closer to him. Once he had regained control of his voice after the scare she’d given him that she might slip and fall in shifting position he answered.
“It’s called a bow.”
“A bow’s something you wear,” protested Apple Bloom, nodding her head and making her own bow wobble a little.
“It’s like if you went too far out on that branch, and it bowed under your weight.”
“Oh.”
With a slight grunt Joe pulled the cord and the wood bent enough that he could loop the other end of the cord around the other end of it.
“Well, that is bowing,” commented Scootaloo. “What does it do?”
“I take one of these,” Joe explained, reaching behind him again with his right hand and taking an arrow from the quiver, “and put it on the bowstring.” He nocked the arrow but did not pull it back as he continued. “Then when I pull it back the bow bends more, and when I let go the bow straightens, so all the strength put into bending the bow goes into making the arrow fly off fast.”
“You’re going to hurt the Crocodile?” said Sweetie Belle, noticing this arrow-stick-thing had a tip like one of her sisters needle-punches.
Joe sighed. “I’m going to have to kill it,” he admitted.
“Kill it?” protested Sweetie Belle, echoed with a shade less horror by her friends.
“Look, I don’t want to,” Joe said, turning and looking up so the Cutie Mark Crusaders could see the sincerity in his eyes. “But we can’t stay in this tree for too long, I don’t know how sturdy it is if the Crocodile starts bashing into it again.”
“Seems sturdy enough,” commented Apple Bloom, “and ah know how hard it can be to knock even a dead tree over. Even Big Macintosh has trouble.”
Joe decided to not suggest this Crocodile was likely even stronger than Apple Bloom’s large and beloved brother. “True enough,” he said instead, “but there would still be a problem with waiting for rescue.”
“Like what?” asked Apple Bloom, continuing to act as spokespony.
“Like how far I’d fly after your sister kicked me in the crotch as bloody hard as she would,” Joe winked, “and though I’m sure Rainbow Dash could overtake the flying-me I think she’d steer or speed my fall rather than catch me.”
“And what do you think my sister would do?” asked Sweetie Belle.
“Oh, I am sure she would decry such brute violence as utterly uncivilised,” Joe said, taking care with his elocution and drawing a giggle from the Fillies, “and she’d assure me every day I was in hospital of how uncivilised it was. And that she forgave me, that it was not my fault we got in trouble, she was sure I could not help it and had done my best…”
“That don’t answer why you got to kill the Crocodile though,” said Apple Bloom.
“If it is like the Crocodiles I know of it would recover even from serious wounds,” Joe began to explain, “so I might be able to hurt it enough to drive it away without that killing it. But I couldn’t hurt it enough with arrows.” He paused and gestured at the Crocodile where it seemed comfortable and to be basking in the afternoon sun. “You can see how thick its scales and skin are. I might be able to wound it enough with my spear, but I don’t think I’d survive that attempt unless I had an advantage.”
“If you can’t wound it how are you going to kill it?” asked Scootaloo, sounding baffled.
“What I can do with arrows is blind it, maybe,” Joe said. “If I can hit its eyes, which could tricky even if doesn’t start thrashing around in pain…”
“Eww,” interjected Sweetie Belle.
“If it is blind then we can escape,” Joe concluded, “but if it can’t catch us it might not be able to catch anything. So though it would still be dangerous I think I’d have to try to fight and kill it, with that advantage, rather than risk it slowly starving.”
“But I don’t want you to kill it,” protested Sweetie Belle. “And neither would Fluttershy.”
“She can be scary as well,” Joe smiled, looking up at Sweetie Belle “but…” Then he stopped, turned away, and cut those words off in favour of vehement cursing. The Cutie Mark Crusaders listened with interest until Joe wound down and went back to his calmer tones. “Sorry, those are human words I shouldn’t have said in front of Fillies,” he admitted.
“Then why did you?” asked Scootaloo reasonably.
“Because I realised I’d been being stupid,” Joe grumbled. He looked to Sweetie Belle again. “If this is like the Crocodiles I know then the muscles that open its jaws are very weak compared with the ones that close them. And if it can’t open its mouth to gape and chomp down on me that might be enough advantage to let me just drive it off. So the question is whether you think you could wrap a rope around its snout with your magic Sweetie Belle.”
“Whoa! Epic fight,” Scootaloo commented, wings buzzing a little in excitement.
“That sounds like it would be more dangerous for you,” said Apple Bloom in concern.
Joe chuckled. “Be safer if I blinded it and its jaws were bound.”
“And even if you don’t blind it you’d still be hurting the Crocodile,” Sweetie Belle complained.
“True,” nodded Joe, “but do you think you can do it?”
Sweetie Belle thought for a moment and then gave Joe a determined look. “I can do that,” she said firmly, “and I can wrap the rope over its eyes as well so it can’t see us and we can escape, without you hurting it.”
“Are you sure? I’m willing to trust you, but this is all our lives at risk.”
“I am sure,” said Sweetie Belle.
Joe hesitated and looked at the other two Cutie Mark Crusaders. Seeing the faith in their friend in their eyes he nodded again and un-nocked the arrow to put it back in the quiver. Then another slight grunt to bend the bow and unloop the bowstring, the bowstring put away, and, after a few attempts, the lower end of the straightened bow found the upper edge of the canvas strap and he was able to slide it down into that. Leaving his helmet on his head he twisted to unfasten the strap at his left hip, which was tucked through a loop on the back of his belt and around a coil of rope. Joe paused as he finished unfastening the strap and took the rope into his hand. He’d not wanted to be carrying anything too bulky so although this was strong it was densely wound and quite narrow. Which wouldn’t have mattered too much for holding the Crocodile’s jaws shut but something broader would be a better blindfold.
Nonetheless Joe uncoiled the rope to be looser and, after looking to Sweetie Belle and getting a nod, cast one end of it down across the Crocodile’s snout. To his relief a blue glow surrounded it and it began to snake its way around, constricting with each turn and spiralling back along the Crocodile’s head. The Crocodile began to thrash about as Joe let go of the rope entirely and Sweetie Belle wrapped that end over its eyes. The rope did not look too secure as Sweetie Belle released her magic from it, which was good as it meant the Crocodile could free itself but could be bad if it freed itself too soon.
“Down and run,” Joe said, dropping from his branch. His knees bent to absorb the impact and while he was semi-crouched he rooted in the fallen bark for his partially buried spear. There were two nearby thuds and one a little further away as Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle landed and Scootaloo managed to emulate a flying squirrel and at least not go straight down. The Fillies hesitated as Joe straightened. “Run,” he repeated.
Seeing the Crocodile was accidentally or deliberately scraping its snout against the tree and dislodging the rope quite fast the Cutie Mark Crusaders needed no further encouragement. Joe gave it a glance and then sprinted at top speed for the slope up and what he hoped was the safety of the trees. He was glad his helmet left his ears exposed so he could better hear what was going on behind him and it was easier to resist the temptation to keep on looking back. As he reached the top of the slope he could not resist any longer though and was relieved to see the Crocodile seemed to have lost interest in them in favour of chomping on the rope, despite the lack of taste to it.
“That was close,” Apple Bloom commented as Joe caught up and they slowed to a walk.
“Closer than I’ve had since I was mauled,” sighed Joe, “or since I started going better equipped after that.”
“We’re sorry,” Sweetie Belle said.
“What for?” asked Scootaloo.
“For running ahead when he told you to wait,” Sweetie Belle pointed out, “and getting yourself in danger.”
“Oh.”
“Question is what to tell your friends and family,” Joe mused. “As well as the promise that you’d listen I’d also the promise about what I am wearing and carrying.” He thought a moment before continuing. “It might avoid some pain for me if you don’t mention the Crocodile, but that would be hiding too much and Sweetie Belle deserves credit for her skill with the rope.”
“Yeah, ah don’t think ah could have lassoed anything any neater!” agreed Apple Bloom. “Fine work.”
“But we could miss out the part with the bow,” Joe continued, reaching up to tug at his chinstrap with his left hand. “Be the truth to say we had to run and get up a tree before Sweetie Belle let us run again and get to these trees.”
“Here, let me carry your spear,” said Scootaloo, looking for a way to apologise.
“Much obliged,” Joe replied, bringing it down. Rather than bite on the shaft like a dog with a stick the small Pegasus brought her back under it and as Joe released his weapon she raised her wings a little to cradle it and keep it balanced there.
“That still don’t seem too honest,” complained Apple Bloom. “And if we don’t mention the bow, and other things, then you don’t get credit for being willing to fight it to save us.”
“I’d rather avoid that credit,” Joe said, managing to unbuckle his chinstrap now he had his right hand free, “but you are right about the lack of honesty. Sometimes people, humans, have to swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And this wouldn’t be the whole truth.”
“Let me,” said Sweetie Belle, her horn glowing and Joe’s helmet lifting from his head.
“Thank you,” Joe said, not sure if he meant it as he’d been more concerned with easing the pressure of the cheekguards on his face rather than having decided to take his helmet off completely. He’d decided to not make them as broad as or wrap around to protect the front of his cheeks like the inspiration for the design but they still felt a little sweaty and constrictive.
“How do I look?” asked Sweetie Belle as she floated the helmet over to sit awkwardly on her own head.
“Most dashing,” Joe replied politely, pulling his cap off and tucking it inside his belt. Then he looked back to Apple Bloom and nodded to her. “I admit I am not setting a good example here by suggesting lies of omission.” He sighed. “Maybe a difference between you and me, or between humans and ponies, so you three should tell people as much as you feel you should.” Joe nodded slightly to himself. “I release you from the promise about not mentioning my equipment.”
“Do you remember when Trixie came to town?” asked Scootaloo, still balancing the spear on her back. “The first time I mean.”
“When Snips and Snails lured an Ursa Minor to Ponyville?” Apple Bloom asked in reply. “Hard ta ferget.”
“Before that, when she was just doing the magic show.”
“Was it nice?” Joe enquired politely, recovering his spear.
“Not so bad,” said Sweetie Belle, releasing the hold of her magic and weaving her head about to try to keep Joe’s helmet perched on it.
“Your sister thought it was quite bad when she showed off her dressmaking magic and got zapped,” Scootaloo reminded her.
“And Rainbow Dash thought it was quite bad when she showed off some flying and she got zapped,” nodded Sweetie Belle, forcing herself to catch the helmet with her magic again.
“Mah sister showed off some rope tricks, and Trixie did the same thing with her rope to her as Sweetie Belle did to the Crocodile with yours,” Apple Bloom grumbled, sounding as if she was still holding a grudge.
“Trixie does sound unpleasant,” admitted Joe, “though I can understand if she was impatient with interruptions to her show.”
“She’d been asking if there any Pony who could match her feats,” Sweetie Belle said.
“Ah, so she invited the displays and then zapped rather than do a similar display?” nodded Joe, understanding why they sounded so annoyed. “What brought her to mind though?”
“You know how much magic Twilight Sparkle has?” Scootaloo asked.
“Hard for me to judge,” shrugged Joe, the motion looking very strange to the Fillies, “but being the personal student of Princess Celestia would suggest a lot of power and skill, even if she hadn’t also become the bearer of the Element of Magic.”
“Well, Twilight didn’t want to put on a show,” Scootaloo explained, “she’s far better at magic than Trixie, as well as smarter…”
“And prettier,” added Sweetie Belle.
“And nicer,” Apple Bloom agreed.
“…but she didn’t want to show off,” continued Scootaloo. “She was worried about how the other ponies would react.”
Joe nodded. “So,” he asked, “are you reassuring me that ponies also try to keep their talents hidden, despite them being emblazoned on their bums, so it’s not a difference between me and ponies? Or are you reassuring me that I shouldn’t be so concerned how people might react?”
“Both,” said Scootaloo. “We still like you.”
“Thank you,” Joe replied, giving them each a smile.